Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Instead, I use the only tool left in my arsenal. Tears. They fall down my face freely, because it’s so easy to cry these days. Normally I’m dead to the world, twisting in agony inside.

“Y-you used to be so sweet with me. I don’t understand why you’re like this.”

His weight sinks into the couch and his hand curls around my shoulder, pulling me upright and into his chest, where I just feel cold. I shrink from his closeness. For a moment I think it worked. That maybe some tiny human part of him hears my distress and feels guilty.

His lips sear the swollen side of my face as he kisses it, leading a trail to my ear. “I was sweet with you because your daddy would have killed me if I laid a hand on you.” His teeth bite down hard on my earlobe, and I grit my teeth.

Don’t cry out. Don’t let him win.

“You’re not the boss’s daughter anymore. You’re nothing.”

It shouldn’t hurt me to hear that from his worthless lips, but it does. It really does.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I let you stick around.”

A small thrill rises in my chest. Why don’t you just leave me? I want to ask.

“Why do you?”

He plants another hot kiss on my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a bruise. This time I make a small squeak of pain and he lets me go, laughing. “I like being able to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Besides,” his voice drops down to a whisper, “I know about the money.”

A sick, swooping sensation curls around my stomach as feeling disappears from my limbs.

How could he know about that? Dad left it for me!

I turn my face toward his, hoping that I can distract him. My arm wraps around his neck and I bury my hand in his short, bristly hair, leaning into his body as our lips touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiles against my lips.

My body flies over the coffee table, his hand wrapped around my neck. A gasp leaves my throat as my back slams into the wood, knocking the breath from my lungs. Then his fingers bite into my neck, squeezing hard as my throat closes up.

My lungs wheeze as he leans over my body, slowly crushing the life out of me. I can’t let this fucking asshole kill me like this-fuck him. My fingers rake over his face, nails digging into that furious visage. Maybe it’s because I’m losing oxygen, but his face looks deformed in the low light. His grin spreads a little too wide, his teeth pointed like tiny daggers. His eyes are completely black, and I wonder how I ever thought he was human. It’s like the darkness had the effect of throwing a lantern on his face, revealing every ugly scar he kept hidden.

The fingers release my throat and I gasp for air, clutching at my skin and coughing. The vision disappears, and Raf sits up straight with a crooked smile that used to send butterflies flying in my stomach.

“I know Jack hid money in his house, and I know that you know where it is. You’re going to take me to it.” He leans in, enjoying watching me squirm on the table as I try to get away from him. “Oh, and if you ever go to my boss again like that, I’ll kill you.”

A flash of heat burns my skin. Weeks ago he wouldn’t have fucking dared to say that to me.

Who’s the real coward?

“No, maybe I’ll fucking kill you!”

I shouldn’t have said it.

Raf’s nostrils flare as he stands up suddenly, the abrupt shift of weight making the table creak.

I really shouldn’t have said it.

“You have balls, Elena, I’ll give you that, but it’s very unbecoming for a wise guy’s girlfriend.”

I know that tone in his voice, and my teeth clench together as he balls his fists. I’m so fucking tired of being scared all the time.

“Stand up and take your beating like a good little bitch.”

Hating him, I stand to my feet, but I don’t remain standing for long. He grips my jaw in his massive hand and squeezes. Then he shoves me hard enough for my head to crack the plaster on the wall. He howls in rage when he sees the damage.

“Look at what you fucking did!”

His boot slams into my side and I feel something inside me break-it’s not a physical thing, but a mental collapse. Heavy blows rain down my back. The pain radiates throughout my body, but it’s as if there’s a brick wall. I can’t feel it. It must be some sort of miracle, or I’m very close to being dead and I should really, really fight back.

My neck slams against the wall and I suddenly feel an electrical shock of pain down my spine as he squeezes my throat, crushing my windpipe. A gust of his breath, stinking of alcohol, blows across my face.

“Say it again, bitch. I fucking dare you.”

My eyes slide to his and I fight the impulse to smile as my broken body screams with pain that I can only dimly feel. My ribs are probably fractured and I might have a slight concussion, but I don’t feel a fucking thing.

This is the best you can do, you piece of human garbage?

I want to say it again, just to prove to the asshole that he can’t wear me down. I’m Jack Vittorio’s daughter and, yeah, I might be a little bit of a spoiled bitch, but no one treats me like this.

My limbs tremble against the wall and an ache pounds through my ribs, spreading agony through my torso, but I don’t say a word. It’s okay to let my ego take a blow for now. He’ll get what’s coming to him.

“I expect you to lead me to the cash tomorrow,” he says, his face finally smoothing over.

His fingers unstick from my throat, and I collapse like a stone to the ground, crumpling into a heap at his feet. Rafael’s cold laughter brings another surge of fury to my heart, but I force myself to calm down.

Don’t let him see.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

The fridge opens and I hear the clinking sound of bottles. Dread sinks my stomach as the telltale hiss of a bottle opening catches my attention. He’s going to get drunk and stupid again, if he isn’t already. I pick myself off the floor and limp toward the bathroom, hoping that he’ll stay in the living room and zone out in front of the television. A vision of myself confronting him with a weapon burns my mind.

I’m going to die. Sooner or later, he’s going to kill me-whether by accident or on purpose. I could see him kicking me one too many times and breaking my neck.

The bathroom door closes behind me and I twist the lock, wincing at the sudden beams of light overhead. The mirror reflects the image of a broken woman. Her dark-brown hair hangs like a nest around her face, which looks like a disaster. Swollen cheeks and blood in her left eye, whose eyelid is sunken over. Busted lip. I lift up my shirt, revealing a large, angry red mark on my abdomen.

I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks like those women you feel sorry for-the ones who keep going back to their abusive partners, over and over again.

When did it get this bad?

There were little things. Signs. A disrespectful comment here and there. Then, finally, he hit me. He slapped me across the face when I disagreed with him about something. My dad was still alive then. He was overcome with remorse. Please don’t tell your dad! I remember well how he cried and blubbered like a baby. At the time, it touched me how strong his remorse was, and I decided to forgive him.

Now I know that I was just a moron. He wasn’t fucking sorry. He was piss-scared that I was going to tell my dad, who would have gutted him, and he would have been absolutely right to do it.

Any idiot could have seen through him, but I actually thought I loved him. He was the guy brave enough to ask me out, before asking my father for permission. In the beginning, he made me feel special.

The horror in the mirror reflects only a few months of abuse. What do you think he’ll do in a few more? Coldness slowly freezes my veins like liquid nitrogen.

If I went back to Vincent, maybe he’d be able to help.